by Lexi Ryan
***
November—Nine Months Before Accident
The morning light reflecting off the river is quickly becoming one of my favorite sights. Even when the ground is covered with a thin sheet of snow and the air is cold enough that I can see my breath, I’m learning to like this time. I can’t exactly say I love running, but I appreciate it, and I’m surprised how quickly I’m gaining stamina.
Max climbs out of his car, looking downright edible in his black, long-sleeved, moisture-wicking shirt and shorts. “Good morning!”
“It’s a beautiful one,” I call back. His smile warms me more than a cloudless spring day. I’ve become spoiled by this time with him, his attention on me.
We start jogging without preamble. At first I feel really good, but within less than fifteen minutes, my head gets fuzzy and my vision starts to blur.
My feet scuff the ground as I stumble mid-stride. Max grabs my arm and catches me before I can fall.
“Whoa, careful,” he murmurs. “Easy there. Are you okay?”
The world spins off-kilter before righting itself, and I point to the ground. “I think I just need to sit down for a minute.” I sink to the cold grass, the frozen earth solid and reassuring under me, and try to blink away a sudden wave of nausea.
“Hanna.” Max squats before me and cups my face in his hand. Worry creases his brow. “Did you eat this morning?”
I blink. He’s touching me, and I don’t want to talk about my diet. I want to melt into his warmth. “I don’t like to eat before I run,” I admit.
“Okay, my lecture on that aside. What about last night?”
“Chicken breast,” I answer, mentally amending half a chicken breast.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you eat with it?” His thumb strokes my cheek.
“Oh. I had it on about two cups of mixed greens.”
“Any starch? Grains? Fruit?”
“No.”
He takes a seat next to me and rests his forearms on his knees. “Lunch?”
“I don’t know. I was busy. Maybe an apple.”
He bows his head. “I’m the worst trainer ever. You didn’t say anything about weight loss, and I just assumed you weren’t looking to lose weight. But I should have known.”
“Known what?”
He smiles at me. “You’re just that kind of personality. You know? You decide you’re going to do something and you go all in.”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
He grins. “It’s not, but you can’t starve yourself. If you really want to lose weight, that’s okay, but you have to eat to lose.”
I try not to roll my eyes at the advice I’ve heard again and again. I push myself off the ground. “I think I should just go home.”
“Hanna, just promise me you’ll start eating.”
So I can stay this size forever? “Sure.”
“Good. Then you can come with me to dinner on Friday.”
Frowning, I turn back to him. “Why?”
He stands and brushes off his shorts. “I think it’s called a date. I buy you dinner. We eat together. Maybe hold hands on the way home?”
I blink at him and the world spins in front of me again, but I soften my knees and draw in a long, slow breath. “That sounds nice.”
“Pick you up at six.”
